Page 15
Max
"She's not answering her phone." Otto lowers his phone. "And ze hotel says she checked out."
I pace the warm-up area, Stanley tracking my movements. "That's impossible. The team before us is almost done. We’re up in fifteen."
"Ja. Impossible." Otto's face remains impassive. "Like teaching a German to be funny."
"You're hilarious when you want to be."
"Zat was not funny. Zat was fact."
A competition official appears, clipboard in hand. "You need to check-in."
"You're going as Morgan," I tell Otto.
He blinks. Once. "Nein. I’m not a girl."
"Come on. It's a gender-neutral name."
"I am not neutral. I am German."
"It's a pirate name too. Like Captain Morgan."
"Pirates drink rum." His nose wrinkles. "Vodka is superior."
“Vodka? You’re German, not Russian.”
“And you drink Scotch. I’m not doing it. Hire pretty girl. Professional model.”
"Morgan wouldn't want that."
"If I am Morgan, I want that."
"If you're Morgan, we don't need a model."
"I am not Morgan."
"Fine. You can be Spookie, and we'll make Spookie be Morgan."
"I can be Spookie."
"You already are spooky."
Otto's expression doesn't change, but his eyes narrow slightly. "If I go as your... partner... your fans will think you are..." He coughs. "You know."
I stop pacing. "You think I care about that right now?"
"Your image—"
"Screw my image. This is about Morgan."
"Ze real Morgan."
"Yes."
"Who left."
"Who I drove away." I meet his eyes. "Help me fix this. Please."
He studies me for a long moment . “Fine. I’ll be Morgan. The other Morgan. One condition.”
“Name it. Anything.”
“I want to wear ze sunglasses too. Bigger sunglasses.”
“Done. Sunglasses for you and Spookie.”
Tracy bursts in. "Max! Where's your Morgan Jane Doe? The press is already—" She stops dead, staring at Otto. "Why is he wearing aviators?"
"Because," I say, "he's Morgan."
Tracy's clipboard hits the floor. "He's... what? You two…?" She makes a sound like a deflating balloon. "Max, you cannot be serious."
“I'm dead serious.”
Tracy's pacing now, muttering into her phone. "Need crisis management... brand disaster... career suicide..." She drops into a chair. "We're doomed."
Five minutes later, we're standing at check-in. The official looks from her paperwork to Otto—all six-foot-plus of him in Stanley's spare aviators—and back again.
"Morgan Bailey?"
"Zat is me. Morgan. Like the pirate."
"Otto," I hiss, "just be yourself."
"I’m doing zis for ze dogs, not for your broken heart."
“I know. And that’s why you’ll be perfect. Plus, you’ve been training with both dogs for weeks.”
The official's pen hovers. "And you're... partnered with Max Dalton?"
"Ja. Ve are very... close."
I bite my cheek to keep from laughing. Or crying. Or both.
Behind us, Tracy has her face buried in her hands.
Suddenly, she pulls me aside. "You know this will be everywhere by morning? The speculation? The headlines?"
"Good."
"Good? I need to stop you. You’re about to torch your entire image. Your female fanbase will—"
"The only woman I care about isn't here." I watch Otto attempt to adjust his aviators with dignity. "But maybe now she'll know."
“Max, we can still save your image. I’ll grab the mic and tell everyone Otto is Stanley’s trainer. We can still stop the rumors.”
“No. Do not do that.”
“Why not?”
“We should give Otto the public credit he deserves. We should have done that long ago. But not today. Today’s not about saving my image. It’s about me willing to risk it all for Morgan.”
“I can’t let you do this. As a representative of the team’s owners, I order you to stop now.”
“I can’t, Tracy. I wish you understood, but if you don’t… I’ll just have to face the consequences.”
“Are you sure?”
“Completely.”
She nods slowly. “Then I hope she’s watching.”
I smile, just barely. “Even if she’s not… my heart is.”
Tracy sighs, but there's something like respect in her eyes. "You really love her, don't you?"
"Enough to let Otto giggle in public when we win."
"Zat," Otto calls from across the room, "will be perfect giggle. I practiced in ze mirror."
We make it through check-in.
Now comes the hard part.